


The 'Eight Seasons of Wincest' Drabbles

by stardust_made



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Love, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_made/pseuds/stardust_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of eight drabbles for each season of 'Supernatural' charting the progress of Dean's perspective on Sam and of their epic love story. Dean's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 'Eight Seasons of Wincest' Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2013 'Eight Days of Wincest' challenge at [](http://samdean_otp.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://samdean_otp.livejournal.com/)**samdean_otp**. A drabble a season, 100 words each.

 

_Season One_

He is gone for too long, but then one day he’s back. Sam is back and Dean doesn’t know where to look. It’s like Sam’s smiles have found a way to plug directly into the sun. His wrists have become wide and strong, yet still retain the refinement Dean begins to suspect was not the mark of childhood but of the person. The swooping mood changes are unchanged: the melancholy angst and the flashes of anger, the high-pitched giggle and the innocent softness; fucking Sam, fucking making Dean want to break him apart to find out how deep he goes.

 

 

_Season Two_

Sam keeps shifting Dean’s perceptions like a Vegas card dealer, until Dean feels dizzy, on edge; can only pray he won’t be cheated by the casino. They travel across the country and it becomes the journey of how Dean Winchester lost his soul, only not for a kiss and Sammy’s life back. No, Sam settled himself in Dean first, spun and spun, weaving it at last: Dean’s soul, worth something. Then he found the finest pair of metaphorical tweezers and pulled it all out, day after day, like a spider-thin silk thread. All for Sammy. That demon bitch got nothing.

 

 

_Season Three_

The eggnog is making the Christmas lights smudge in the hushed darkness. Sam is sleeping like the dead, face down. _Like_ the dead. Dean leans onto that sweetest of reminders and slumps on the floor next to Sam’s bed.

Sam’s shirt has ridden up. Dean blinks at the soft glow of exposed skin, before outstretching his hand, glacial-slow. He knows he’s drunk—a twitch and he’ll end up poking Sammy. Dean doesn’t want that. He only wants to brush his fingers. Then maybe their backs.

Sam still wakes up. Mussed and drooping, he rests back down and gazes at Dean.

 

 

_Season Four_

A man goes to Hell and when he comes back, his brother has changed again. Dean hugs Sam, chest expanding to accommodate his new bulk. Sam’s mouth has begun curling differently: an adult bow that shoots confident arrows in all directions. The darkness in him is no longer like a grass blade.

They scuffle quietly in a corner and Sam wins, kisses Dean. ‘We did that _before_ ,’ Dean thinks. ‘Because I was going to Hell anyway.’ Then he figures he hasn’t really left, and Sam seduces like a man now, so maybe some changes are irreversible and some battles futile.

 

 

_Season Five_

Dean once found a letter in a derelict house. “Light of my life,” it began so Dean sniggered, but finished reading.

Fifteen years later he’s caught in a loop of reciprocal hurt with Sam, while not much else can harm them: the two precious vessels to sail the end of the world. They even get to visit Heaven.

Turns out Dean’s Heaven is his baby brother and a field of fireworks. Sammy can’t contain himself, runs towards the fireworks, jubilant. Dean follows him with his eyes and thinks, _light of my life_.

Fittingly, Sam dies swallowed by a black hole.

 

_Season Six_

The Sam who’s back from Lucifer’s Cage is the wrong way round. So is Dean’s life. Dean’s uneasy, loaded, cranky. He asks Sam how come he’s always chilled.

“Sex,” Sam says, nodding. “One hooker forgot to ask for her cash.”

“Seriously? What, you that good now?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s eyes turn unbearably fox-like. “You want proof?”

They lock themselves in a room and Sam fucks him so good that Dean’s mindless with it. It’s still… Sam’s _all wrong_.

When Sam gets his soul back they spend hours just kissing and sharing touches. Sammy is himself, and this has become their right.

 

 

_Season Seven_

Sam—pensive, quietly-spoken Sam—has always burned, in everything. Blue for snippy sarcasm; yellow for stubbornness; hypnotic, scary purple for his self-righteous anger. Gold for his kindness; any soft colour for his earnestness. White for Sam’s silences: impenetrable, confounding, annoying…yet sometimes also so clear.

Sam burns the colour of fire when his head sinks into the pillow, mouth tender and half-open: Dean’s Sam. Or when it’s Dean face down, each slip-slide of Sam leaving carpet burns on Dean’s very soul.

When Sammy’s flames dwindle close to extinguished, insanity fraying his mind and crushing his spirit, the whole world turns dark.

 

 

_Season Eight_

You are my beautiful, broken brother. You are _my_ broken: promises, bones under Lucifer’s fists, heart. My blindness; my stupid, oblivious words.

If I could break myself apart and use the pieces to patch you up I would, then walk the earth deformed, but happy that you’re whole. When was I ever whole anyway, when? There was always a part of me locked in you: a huge chunk that has kept shifting and hiding. As if I’d ever tear it out. As if I’d ever tear myself out of you. I’d tear myself up for you. Sammy. Anything for you.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Light of my Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202130) by [Canon_Is_Relative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative)
  * [The 'Eight Seasons of Wincest' Drabbles [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410557) by [Canon_Is_Relative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative)




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